


Dreaming Awake

by hardboiledbaby



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Community: watsons_woes, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:13:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardboiledbaby/pseuds/hardboiledbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is startled awake, abruptly roused from sleep by... something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Awake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thayln](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thayln/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sherlock - Drabble I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323838) by [thayln](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thayln/pseuds/thayln). 



> A 221b ficlet, written for the [watsons_woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) challenge 27: Short, Sweet, and Whomped! 
> 
> Set post-RF. Follows ["Dream of a Waking Man"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1143547) and [thayln](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thayln/pseuds/thayln)'s excellent [drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1323838). While this stands on its own, reading the other two parts first is helpful, I think.

John is startled awake, abruptly roused from sleep by... something.

Not a nightmare. He knows only too well what that's like: wrenched to wakefulness by the twisted memories of battle; of bullets flying and bodies falling, of death and destruction and blood on his hands, blood on the pavement—

_Stop it_ , he tells himself. Not that it does any good.

He sits up and listens, but the flat is quiet. There is traffic outside, of course, even at this hour, but he's used to that. Beyond that, there's nothing.

He closes his eyes and reaches back to the moment right before he awoke. He hears it then: a handful of notes, a fragment of a melody he doesn't recognise... or _thinks_ he hears it.

John drops to his knees, scrabbling beneath the bed. _The box, it should be here._

It is.

When he opens the case within, the violin gleams softly in the dim light. John sags with relief, then chokes out a laugh. It sounds suspiciously like a sob.

"I've finally gone around the bend," he mutters. "Dreaming awake. Or are you haunting me? Don't haunt me, you git."

Not that it'll do any good. Sherlock never did as John asked, anyway.

The tune repeats, ethereal and elusive. It's almost comforting.

Sighing, John slides the box back under his bed.


End file.
